


the games we play

by somnium_astrum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Needs To Use His Words, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, stiles tells him what's up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnium_astrum/pseuds/somnium_astrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which games are played and Stiles is all in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the games we play

The touches start innocently enough. Stiles spends just a moment too long against his shoulder, lingering after grabbing some popcorn. Or he gives an extra brush while adjusting his back. Each time he hesitates a bit less, stays a bit longer. He's spent the last five minutes slowly increasing the pressure as he rubs circles on the nape of Derek's neck, ranging from featherlight to firm. 

When Stiles brings his hand around, tracing the clavicle from the joint to the jugular notch, up along his throat and across his jawline, Derek sucks in a deep breath. He regrets it immediately as both Scott and Isaac's heads whip around toward him. Frantically, he tries to think of an excuse, someway to justify the increased breath and heartbeat when he feels Stiles lean forward. 

"Have you never seen this movie before, Der?" It as good as an excuse as any and he's thankful for Stiles' quick thinking. Clearly, his brain is of no use currently.

"Nope," Derek clears his throat. "No." It's the truth too, although he's not really seeing it now, either. 

"It's a little confusing," admits Scott with a frown. Derek barely listens as Isaac tries to explain the plot so far, Allison interjecting tidbits here and there. Poor Scott looks even more puzzled when they finish. 

"You okay there, big guy?" Stiles murmurs. It's hot and low against his ear and Derek can feel the moisture of the teenager's lips. He nods jerkily and Stiles sits back, continuing his tactile exploration of Derek's neck. The others are still throwing glances back at him, ranging from curious to concerned and Derek curses werewolf hearing. From where they're seated, they can't see Stiles' hand, they can only hear the roller coaster his heart is on so he just shrugs at them and nods his head toward the television screen. It takes a couple minutes but the attention is soon diverted back to the movie and Derek can feel Stiles chuckling silently. 

Eventually, the hand leaves his neck and he briefly misses the warmth. Then Stiles is moving forward, his hand inching down Derek's chest, his abdomen where it stops, just above Derek's waistline.

“Please,” begs Stiles quietly and there is something so filthy about the way he says it, so wanton. Derek cranes his neck to look at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, when he catches the small smirk as Stiles reaches down a bit further.  Right into the popcorn bowl on Derek's lap. Derek is going to kill him. If he survives this goddamn movie, he's going to throw the little shit out of the window. Counting down from ten, Derek tries to think of how to get revenge only to come up blank because he's a little proud at how bold Stiles is becoming. 

After Stiles eats his share of popcorn and wipes the grease away, his hands return to their analysis, this time running through Derek's hair, blunt nails scratching lightly at his scalp. The older man risks another deep breath and leans into the touch. 

Until the movement stops and Stiles softly tugs. The pull makes Derek bare his neck slightly and he freezes, muscles tensed.  Some long-ingrained fight or flight instinct flaring to life.

Derek doesn't mean to freak out but he doesn't know the last time he showed that kind of submission, any kind of submission. The small act makes him feel too vulnerable, too small, like there isn't enough space. Jumping up quickly, he mumbles "need some air," before practically running out, avoiding the confused look he knows is on Stiles' face. 

He makes it around the corner, ducking into an alleyway before collapsing back in on himself. Part of him realizes what a huge over reaction that was. Stiles is human. He wasn't asserting his dominance. Logically, he knows Stiles was just being playful, that he didn't mean anything by it but that thought is almost worse. His attraction is obvious, isn't it? Four months ago, punch drunk and sleepy, Stiles _had_ kissed him. Derek, of course, had pushed him away, packed him into the car and drove him home. The kid was drunk, he didn't know what he was doing. Not really. And Derek wasn't going to be _that guy_. He'd honestly expected Stiles to storm up to the loft the following day, demanding to talk about it. Instead he had gotten four months of teasing, long stares and secret touches that left him half hard and wanting.  Maybe Stiles was just toying with him. 

But if that's all that this is-

"Derek," the younger man calls out. Because of course he followed. Derek can't get away from him. Placing a hand on his arm, Stiles continues, "you okay?"

"For fucks sake, Stiles," he lashes out, pulling his arm roughly away. "Is this all just a game to you?"

"A game?" Stiles flinches from the heat in Derek's voice, completely nonplussed. 

"Yes. A game. All the flirting and touching and-"

"Of course it's a game," Stiles says, mockingly haughty before his expression turns to steel. "It's me seeing how much I can get before you take it all away. Do you even? No. You know what?"

And Stiles is there now, completely in his space and Derek can do nothing but pull him in further. It's almost instinctual, the way they reach for each other. They've been doing it for months, years even. 

"I want my hands to memorize every inch of your skin," Stiles says, the pad of his index finger reading Derek's jawline like Braille. Derek's eyes flutter and he struggles to compose himself, to make sense of what is going on. "I want to know if you taste like you smell, like a bonfire on the last beach day before the cold takes hold."

Stiles presses his nose to Derek's pulse point and breathes him in. "I want to trace every bit of you with my tongue," he continues, pausing to lick a long stripe up his neck. "I want to know what you feel like inside me because you're already everywhere else. I want... I want so fucking much, I can't breathe. One stupid drunken kiss ages ago and you, you've consumed me ever since. So yes, Derek. This is a game, apparently. I press and you pull. I touch and you let me until some random interval that must make sense to you and then you just fucking leave. And you know what? I'm going to keep touching and teasing until you draw the lines because I have no idea where they are. Do you-”

He's flushed with anger, breathing hard and Derek has no idea where this is all coming from. That's not how it was. Was it?

"Stiles," Derek starts, tries again. "Stiles, you have to know-"

"I don't know anything other than up until a couple of minutes ago you  _tolerated_  me touching you," he spits, clearly frustrated. 

“Stiles, I just... I mean... Fuck,” Derek sighs. He can't seem to find the words he wants to say, the words he needs to say.

"It may be a game, Der, but I'm all in,” Stiles tells him and Derek just melts.

Stiles swipes his thumb across Derek's bottom lip and sucks in a shaky breath. Slowly, to give Derek time to pull away, he leans in, gaze locked with the older wolf's, hungry and hopeful. The kiss, when their lips finally meet, is so much more gentle than their emotions should've allowed but the undercurrent of _needwantmoremore_ is nearly all encompassing. Stiles barely stifles a moan as he parts his lips and Derek growls and flips them so that Stiles is flush against the wall. 

"We're idiots," decides Derek, laughing ruefully. Locking eyes, he continues; "Seriously. Both of us."

Stiles just laughs and kisses him again.


End file.
